Freaked Out Jesus

Yesterday’s Gospel is also Sunday’s Gospel, but before I write about that, I need to explain about Freaked Out Jesus.

When we speak, it is not only our words that convey the meaning of our message. Our tone of voice, facial expressions, general demeanor, all these clarify the real meaning of our words. Start with this statement: “I’m looking for my son.”

It means something completely different, depending on my tone. Frantic? Furious? Bored? Amused? If I’m standing at the sink doing dishes while he’s calling out from the closet for me to come find him, it means I am not looking for my son. As in, maybe he’ll stay in the closet five minutes and I can get these dishes done.

The Gospels almost never give us this extra information to go with the words of Jesus. Which means that for much of the Gospels , we the readers have to fill in the missing information ourselves. There can be no “neutral” reading – put the dialog into a flat, expressionless tone, and you’ve gone and set a very particular (and unlikely) mood.

What readers today seem to do the most, though, is use the words as stage cues. Which doesn’t always work – if Jesus says He’s “tired” of something, is he angry, frustrated, bored, or about to fall asleep? What I see most as a result of this method is what I call Freaked Out Jesus. We put the most forceful literal spin on his words, as if Jesus were marching through Galilee reacting in extremes at every wacky thing the mortals do.

I don’t think this works, and the reason is the people I grew up with. Bearing the brunt of one of our childish antics, my maternal grandmother would say: “I could wring your neck.” My father would say, “God bless it all.”

Now you who have lived in my time and place may know exactly what those two expressions mean and how they were conveyed. But pretend for a moment that you used the Freaked Out method of literal interpretation to add tone and meaning to the words. You’d make my grandmother out to be a homicidal maniac. The children spill a pound of sugar on the floor, and she’s ready to strangle them! You envision wild eyes, grasping hands, children fleeing in terror. And then my father, in contrast, watching the dog eat the meatloaf someone knocked off the table, is smiling beatifically, praising Jesus in mild, thankful tones for the wonderful gift of family life.

No. My grandmother would say, “I could wring your neck”, and she’d be laughing. Children are children. They make good stories. My father would bellow “God bless it all!”, and trust me, it wasn’t a blessing. [For the record, my dad is a great guy. But yeah, when he’s mad, he YELLS. And then he’s over it. He’s a wonderful father in his own special loud way.]

And those two are my argument against the Freaked Out method of reading the Gospels. When Peter starts to slip into the water out on the sea, and Jesus says, “Oh you of little faith,” do you really think He’s belittling the apostle? That’s how it usually gets interpreted. But what if Jesus were patient and kind? What if He were pleased with Peter’s efforts however small (and walking on water is not so small), and as He helped Peter up, He wanted to provide encouragement and guidance? What if Jesus had a sense of humor? Is it possible He was sort of chuckling to Himself and giving Peter a pat on the back as they got into the boat?

The Gospels don’t say. We have to use clues to fill in the missing information as best we can. And that’s where I’m going in the next post on Pagans & Tax Collectors. Because I think that the Gospels do give us clues on how Jesus feels about them, and how He wants us to treat them. And by extension, how he wants us to treat dissenting and openly sinning members of the Church.

Hey, look, a Tollefsen article!

Yeah, it took me by surprise too.  You’ll be relieved to know it’s on a nice, quiet, non-controversial topic, Contraception and Healthcare Rights.  Here were my thoughts as I read:

  1. Yay!  A Tollefsen article my readers will actually like!
  2. Ooops.  Nope.  More mad readers.  Uh oh.
  3. No, never mind, I think it’s good after all.

So, er, read at your own risk.  It’s written philosophy-style, of course, so you’re constantly behind the curve, never really sure whether you agree with the guy or not.  But I’m pretty sure he makes sense.  In that special philosopher way.*

 

 

*Keep in mind that professional philosophers have to work day in and day out with people who aren’t strictly sure they exist, or perhaps are sure they exist, but also that they only turned up at the conference or the coffee bar on account of their molecules making them do that.  I’m not making fun.  That’s what a subset of real live tenured philosophy professors actually think.  I’ve taken the classes . . . I know.  You’d write reaaally caaarefullly if you had to present your papers to those people.    (I mean, for a living.  If you’re a student, you could just write normally and live with the B.)

And more joy.

I didn’t change because I liked Jesus’ message or because I decided to follow His teachings. I changed because I experienced His love for me and I responded to it. His love was so encompassing that I had to offer it to others.

Sometime when you have a few minutes to sit down, go read Antonella Garofalo’s conversion story.   It is longer than the usual twenty-second blog post, but eminently readable and full of life.

Looking forward to seeing more of her work.

Why “Providentialism” Doesn’t Work

Continuing with the NFP theme . . .

If you travel in the right circles, soon enough you run up against “providentialists”.   You might see a reference to “Quiverfull” or “Full Quiver”, or “Letting God Plan Your Family”, or any number of things.  The basic idea is this:  Married couples should take no measure to avoid pregnancy in any way.

There are variations, and I won’t go into the crazier minorities.  Also, we aren’t talking here about couples who take no steps to space or delay pregnancy because they have no reason to do so.  That is normal and healthy.  If you are a married couple, the default mode is “hope for another baby”.

What I want to address today is the idea that maybe NFP is wrong.  That maybe, observing your signs of fertility, and actively choosing to avoid intercourse during the fertile time, is somehow not what God wants.  That by doing so you are not trusting God.  You are perhaps taking into your own hands something that should remain a mystery.  And that what God wants is for couples to go ahead and engage in marital relations with no regard for whether or not a pregnancy will result, even when all indicators are that a pregnancy at this time would be a very, very bad thing.

This is not Catholic.  And it doesn’t work.  Here’s why:

God gives us free will, and He means us to use it.  Let us set out an ideal of complete, childlike trust in God.  Now ask: Does that mean that you want your children to be automatons?  No.  I want my children to trust in me, to obey me, to do what I have taught them even when it doesn’t make sense.  But my goodness if the house is on fire,  all those years of “don’t get out of bed after bedtime” give way to the other training of “kick through the screen and climb out the window, I’ll meet you at the neighbor’s house”.   God gives us the faculty to think, to plan, to control our actions.  We are not dogs in heat.  We trust in Him, but we still check the classifieds when we need a job.

We aren’t meant to dwell in ignorance of the wonders of the universe.  And that includes human biology.  I don’t show my “trust” in God by refusing to learn more about the world He created.  It would be bizarre and unnatural for me to insist on complete ignorance of the very obvious signs of human fertility.

Our emotions and desires provide valuable information.  And they cannot be forced.  Although we should not be ruled by our feelings, when they are properly ordered they are essential to making prudent decisions.  What sane man could look at the faces of his hungry children and not be filled the notion that his first and foremost mission is to find a way to feed them?  That other things must wait.  What loving husband could look at his sick wife, and not want to first do what he could to protect her health, and choose to set aside his own natural urges for her sake?    In the face of serious reasons to postpone pregnancy, the normal, healthy response is to have a diminished desire for intercourse.

So “providentialism” simply does not work.  At it’s logical extreme, it asks us to abandon our role as creatures made in the image of God.  To set aside our free will, to insist on willful ignorance of the basic and obvious workings of creation, and to cultivate an animal-like desire for intercourse instead of responding to the normal, healthy instinct to put the good of others before our own pleasure.  In face of serious reasons to avoid pregnancy, abstinence — whether 100% or intermittently as required — is a natural, noble, and moral means of sacrificing for the good of the family.

That said, the practice proposed by “providentialism” is in fact the default mode for married couples.  It is normal for married couples to engage in intercourse at will, and joyfully welcome whatever children come their way.    It is only when serious situations arise that one would actually want or need to choose another course of action.  But in those situations, NFP is a sane response.

NFP and Suffering

The biggest complaint about NFP is that it stinks not being able to have sex with your spouse.  The rest of the method — observing and charting and all of that — may not be the funnest thing ever, but it beats having surgery or putting weird chemicals into your body, and compared to all the other things parents do, really it’s no big deal.  But not having sex with your spouse?  That stinks.

And so people complain, rightly, “We shouldn’t have to abstain.”

No, you shouldn’t.

We live in a fallen world.  There should be no hunger, no murder, no sickness, no death.  But there is.  Not because there should be, not because these things are right and natural and all part of what man was made for, but because our world is broken, and the ultimate fix is for the next life, not this one.

“We shouldn’t have to abstain” is also the argument for contraception.  Couples instinctively know that their calling is for intimacy and physical union.  They mistakenly conclude that whatever enables intercourse is therefore good.

The mistake is in thinking that sex can be separated from procreation.  If I have this sense that as a couple we ought to be engaging in intercourse at will, and if a pregnancy would cause a serious problem at this time, the conclusion of contraception is that I ought to keep the sex but avoid the pregnancy.

NFP says: No.  The two cannot be separated.  If pregnancy needs to be avoided, then intercourse will have to avoided, because you may not separate sex from procreation.  (Nor procreation from sex.)  The way in which we bring into the world new eternal souls is sacred.  It is set apart.

The trouble is that in promoting NFP, we mistakenly compare it to contraception.  It is as effective for avoiding pregnancy.  It is as easy to master.  And, sometimes you will be told, “Well, it’s only a few days a month that you need to avoid”.  In other words, you’ll hardly notice.

And we think therefore that NFP should involve no suffering.  No difficulty.  Because that is what contraception claims: Have all the free sex you want!  The free sex you surely need!  It pains you, as a married couple to abstain!  Surely your marriage requires sex at will, right?

What we forget, is that NFP is only there as a response to a serious problem.

If the world were not broken, there would be no NFP.  Couples would marry, and children would come.  There would be no infertility, no miscarriages, no stillbirths.  No pregnancy complications.  No breastfeeding difficulties, nor pregnancies too close one after the other.  No health problems that limited how many children one could bear and rear.  No concern about feeding or caring for or sheltering the children.  No mental health disorders.  None of these countless ways that many couples find they cannot simply have sex at will, for the world is broken.

NFP seeks to lighten the load.  It seeks to lessen the suffering that this broken world imparts.  But like a kindly nurse in the ICU, or a compassionate police officer at the scene of the crime, nothing can erase the underlying World Gone Wrong.   If I’m using NFP, it means there is some kind of problem in my life.

The suffering is not imaginary.  It is not particularly surprising, even.  It’s a broken world.  NFP is a moral means to take the edge off the pain, but it’s still a broken world.

The Quest for Free Everything

Jen Fulweiler has a pretty good response to the NYT‘s Contraception v. NFP article; Marissa Nichols adds more here, and of course Simcha points out that it’s all eerily similar to playground equipment. [Not like that, get your mind out of the gutter.]

My nine-year-old doesn’t know it, but it also has to do with cleaning the house.

She proposes a remote control with different settings, from “dirty” on through “super clean”.  Pushing the desired button automatically transforms the house into the level of cleanliness you have selected.  I observed that we didn’t really need the slovenly buttons, we’re very reliable about that part.

Because what we want is to just play and relax all the time.  We want all the fun of owning lots of cool stuff, building things, sewing, painting, reading 1,001 books — all of it genuinely good and good-for-you.  But we don’t really feel like doing the housework that goes with.

And mind you, there is nothing dangerous or laborious about the work we’re talking about here.  It’s just not as fun as the funnest parts.  It’s sort of dull.  So we imagine we’d be so much happier if only we had the magic remote to take care of the not-so-great parts.  Then we could do only the homemaking we wanted, and not have to think that every time we wanted to do an activity, we’d be expected to clean up afterwards.

It’s contraception for hobbies.

***

The reason people hate NFP so much is that they keep comparing it to contraception.  No no no.  NFP is not contraception.  It is not like contraception, it does not do what contraception does, it has nothing to do with contraception.   Ask a happy contraceptor to use NFP, he’ll quickly confirm this for you.

NFP is a form of abstinence.  It’s a method for not having sex. 

[Okay, it also doubles as a method for increasing your odds of having a baby when you want one, and we have had great success with using it that way.  In that sense, NFP is a fertility treatment, and compares very favorably to the other fertility treatments out there.  But no one’s complaining about that kind of NFP.  Wish the NYT would run the article.  Please.]

So any way, back to not having sex.  Which you would think was pretty simple (I’m doing it right now), but actually doing it all the time is not so easy.   People who are determined not to have sex often find they have to take elaborate measures to pull it off, such as not spending large amounts of time alone with likely partners.  And those measures are tricky to execute when you, hmmn, say, live with the guy.  As often happens when you’ve gone and married him.

Which is why NFP is great: Instead of having to not have sex all the time, which is daunting, you can figure out ways to not have sex just some of the time.  Which is easier if your spouse has some time-consuming hobby like golf or hunting or smashing concrete blocks to smithereens, that can be employed as a distraction during those “few brief days” (bwahahaha) of periodic abstinence.

–> I have my luddite moments, but there is no convincing me that everything was better back before digital thermometers, when couples who needed to postpone a pregnancy enjoyed the simplicity and peace of just not having sex at all.  Complicate my life with technology, please.

(I feel the same way about my washing machine.)

Is NFP good for you? Well, I don’t know.

I know some people who keep a really clean house, and they do it by rarely being home and rarely pursuing any hobbies when they are home, and not really cooking much.  That life seems sort of harried and empty to me, because I like all the messy home-livin’ we do.  They’re practicing the NFP of hobbies and homemaking, avoiding making the mess so that they don’t have to keep up after it.

I know other people who keep a really clean house, despite having bunches of kids, homeschooling, and eating all their meals homemade.  They do it by discipline and hard work.  They are the full-quiver, providentialist types of the hobby-and-homemaking world.  And they seem pretty happy.

I’m not sure what I’d do if you offered me the magic house-cleaning remote.  But I suspect it wouldn’t be good for me.  It would make my life simpler and easier and more fun-filled at first, but I bet over time my life would just get crowded by all the non-stop pleasure seeking. And then empty.

I know that contraception is dangerous and empty in this way.  (Though, like the magic remote, very tempting.)  I know that the people who are able to just conceive conceive conceive, and it is coupled with true generosity and discipline and love, these people are living a life filled with tremendous joy.

But what about us NFP-types?  Would we be happier if we just abstained 100%?

Would I be happier if my decision to have sex was not, “Are my reasons to avoid a pregnancy serious enough to wait until the end of the month?”, but instead, “Are my reasons serious enough to not have sex again, at all, until some unknown date when my life might be different?”  Would the higher stakes make me value my sexuality and my children that much more?

I do know that couples who have a large family not out of generosity to life but out of uncontrolled passion, sooner or later have to deal with the reality of their motivations.   And I know that NFP practiced with an overdeveloped sense of fear can mean missing out on the immense and uncountable blessings that another child would have brought.

It’s powerful knowledge, being able to know when you are fertile.

And I’m just simple and dumb.  I like being able to have sex with my husband some of the time.  I like that a lot better than having sex with him none of the time.  The Church says this is a morally acceptable way to use our sexuality.  And I suppose, what with most of our theologians and all of our Popes being “none of the time” people, they probably have an inkling.

Discussion Question: How to handle accusations against clergy?

The question is this:

In your opinion, how should accusations of clergy misconduct be handled, so that the rights of both the innocent and the guilty are respected?  Or if you prefer, accusations against school teachers, catechists, police officers, you name it.

Does your diocese [district / department / etc.], or one you are familiar with, have a good process that works well?

Do you know of a case where an accusation of a serious crime was made, and the situation was handled well?  What did it look like?  Please do not use identifying info.  This is not about any particular case, but about what methods that can be applied generally to all cases.

(Which means, I expect,the method needs to have multiple options, depending on the  nature of the accusations, etc.)

Also, if you have a story to tell, stick to the facts that you know.  Conjecture is not helpful and I’ll have to make fun of you it will lead others into temptation.

–Reply in the combox, or on your blog and then leave a link in the combox.  Thanks.–

****************************************************

My personal experience: I’ve been very closely involved in two serious cases — one accusation of child molestation, one of rape.  One of the accusations was true, the other was false. [Those are the facts, not the findings. I was close enough to both cases to know the facts.]  Both cases were handled fairly, in my opinion, by the authorities to whom the incidents were reported, and by the police.  Allegations were taken seriously, steps taken to keep minors safe, and investigations conducted quickly and with no pressure to sway the witnesses one way or another.

That said, in the case of the true accusation, the criminal committed more crimes before he was apprehended.  (He was at large, stranger to the victims.)  In the case of the false accusation, the man accused did suffer tremendously from the social stigma, being removed from work with minors, etc., even though he was eventually (and fairly quickly) acquitted.

–> As a result of these experiences, I have a hard time seeing my way clear to what an “ideal” process is.  If the accusations are true, there is a pressing need to protect any future victims.  Sweeping measures to remove the accused from any chance to harm more people is important.  And the victims themselves need to be given tremendous support.

But especially with sexual crimes, and often enough with other crimes, there is no evidence.  It is very easy to bring false accusations.  Someone so inclined can shut down a ministry at will, simply by making the accusation.  It takes a very clear head and a fair bit of life experience to be able to weed through the claims and personalities and discern whether the accusation is likely to be true or not.

–> I imagine many cases are not like the ones in which I was involved — where there were clear-thinking bystanders who knew the the parties involved and the details of the alleged incidents well enough to quickly resolve whether there was a probable crime.  One of the hallmarks of repeated sexual abuse is that a group of on-lookers enable the behavior and refuse to intervene.  Another, is that if innocent party is not taken seriously, it can wreak some serious psychological damage — creating an “unreliable” victim and the impression that the victim is the guilty one.

And distinctive in the case of church-related scandals, is that I don’t think we know each other very well. The community is often geographically spread out, and lives mostly apart.  We come together for a tiny slice of our lives, but the world of church ministry is separate from our other work, our other leisure, our home life, etc.  There are few people who know us very well.  Who get to see us in all places and times and contexts.

So it is hard.  I’d like to hear thoughts on what you think would make a good, fair way of dealing with accusations.

 

 

More on Forgiveness

I want to elaborate on my last post.   Forgiveness is not easy, and there are lots of useful tips that begin with something like, “In order to forgive, first . . . [insert important, worthwhile spiritual point].”

But before all that:  In order to forgive, first someone must do something wrong.

Our culture is awash in fake forgiveness.  Part of it is linguistic — the words “I’m sorry” mean “I have sorrow”, and you can grieve many things, not only your sins.  The words “I apologize” have at their origin the idea of a defense, or explanation, that may well have nothing to do with guilt.  But we respond “I forgive you” to some of these innocent sorrows and defenses, and that can create the false impression that we are frequently forgiving when really we are not.

For example:

My mother-in-law is half an hour late.  I rant and stew.  How could she make me wait?!! And then she arrives, and it turns out there was a bad accident, she had left home early but was stuck in traffic for an hour [of course I didn’t have my phone with me, she did call], she is terribly sorry [she really is] that I was inconvenienced.  Well, I could say “I forgive you”, except she never did anything wrong.    She’s completely innocent.  If anything, I’m the guilty one, assuming the worst about her and getting mad before I even knew what had happened.

When we pretend we’re forgiving someone, but really they are innocent, that’s what I mean by “fake forgiveness”.    It is a genuine letting go of anger and bitterness, but it’s not the hard kind of forgiveness that Jesus demands.

Another kind of fake forgiveness is the “I understand”.   I once had a priest yell at me, in church, as I was saying my penance after confession.  He was a crotchety old man, hard of hearing, in a lot of pain due to various ailments, and probably fed up to here with other parishioners that were eerily like myself.  He was wrong.  A priest certainly should not march out into the pews and loudly and angrily continue the topic brought up in confession.  But I could understand.  Grumpy guy.  Grumpiness happens.  I was glad it was me and not some other person whose faith would be more easily shaken.  I argued with him, he took my point, two grumpy people satisfied to have each said our due.

–> But “I understand” can’t be the foundation of forgiveness.  It is a help, for certain.  It is the proverbial spoonful of sugar, that camaraderie and compassion for fellow sinners that makes it easier to overlook faults not unlike our own.  But Jesus asks me to forgive even the people who are just really, really bad.  The ones who have no excuse.

The nice thing is that many of us get to mostly wade in shallow waters.  We get to “forgive” innocent people, and we can comfortably go about excusing the genuine but minor wrong-doing that we face from day to day.

But what if we kept our perception of right and wrong perfectly clear?

To my mother-in-law, I wouldn’t say “I forgive you”.  I’d say: You haven’t done anything wrong.  Thank you so much for thinking of me, that is very thoughtful, but I’d be foolish to be mad at you when you are perfectly innocent.

And to Father Grumpy, instead of “I understand why he’s so crotchety, he’s old and over worked and his knees are killing him today”, It would be just:  That was wrong.  He should not have done that.  That was a real injustice against me, and against the sacrament, and against his ministry.  But I forgive him.  He doesn’t have a right to do what is wrong, but he does have a right to be forgiven, so I guess no excuse for me being Mrs. Grumpy the rest of the day.

***

Oh, I know.  These are ideals.  You think I’m any good at this?  No way.  I most certainly am not.  And I don’t guess I’m explaining it well, either.

But this is the staircase of depravity I was talking about earlier.  If I’m regularly patting myself on the back for “forgiving” innocent people, I’m fooling myself.  I haven’t got a clue about forgiveness until someone actually does something wrong.

And then if I explain away every real wrongdoing with a “he had a good reason”, “nobody is perfect”, “I’d be tempted too,” then I’ve missed my chance.   Of course I should understand — I could write a book on human weakness, of course I understand.  But I need to go beyond that.  Both so that my soul gets practice actually forgiving, and as a favor to my fellow sinners.

***

The first person who showed me forgiveness was a department secretary.  I owed her a form.  I didn’t fill out the form on time.  She came to my cube and said, “You didn’t give me the form.”

I made a thousand excuses.  I couldn’t bear to be actually wrong, because I didn’t know then that you could be wrong and still live.

And she kept saying to my every excuse, “I forgive you.  I forgive you.  Jennifer, I FORGIVE YOU.  (Now please shut up and fill out the form.)”

I finally shut up and filled out the form.

What? I had done something wrong?  And she freely acknowledged I DID SOMETHING WRONG?  And she wasn’t mad?  Even though I really had done something wrong?  At cost to her?  And she demanded nothing in repayment.  Not an apology, not an ‘I’ll make it up to you,” not even an “it will never happen again”.  Not even the pleasure of berating me for twenty seconds.  Nothing.

It was a completely new world to me.

***

And that’s the world I was talking about yesterday.  If that helps at all.  I know, I know.  Forgiving small things is so much easier.  Yes. Yes.  But it’s a start.   I think we kid ourselves if we say we can tackle anything bigger, before we’ve got a handle on how to forgive the little sins first.

And yeah, supernatural aid definitely required.